


Attending A Wedding

by CedarTheBarefoot



Series: Up On the Homestead [7]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Autumn, Bottom Arthur, Dancing, Drunk Sex, Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, Flowers, Fluff and Smut, Historical, Homestead AU, Idiots in Love, M/M, Making Love, Original Character(s), Smoking, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Top John, Trans Character, Unrequited Crush, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:07:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21611854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CedarTheBarefoot/pseuds/CedarTheBarefoot
Summary: The boys have been invited to the wedding of Graham's daughter, Anabel. It's been a while since they've had make social niceties...and to wear formal clothing. Not that either of them are complaining...besides, the evening turns out fairly interesting. And fun.
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Series: Up On the Homestead [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1260731
Comments: 8
Kudos: 156





	Attending A Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> I had to do SO much editing for this installment. I have too many ideas for Autumn-based chapters. They'll have to wait. 
> 
> This one is a little plot heavy, but still fairly light-hearted. In case it wasn't apparent, queer history. Most of this installment is set up for future chapters, and of course smut. 
> 
> Glad to see that folks are still enjoying Up On the Homestead!

Arthur frowned at himself in the mirror, and tugged loose the black bowtie cinched around his neck for the second time.

“Here,” John said, coming around to his side. “Let me,” he murmured, gently taking the long silk tails in his hands. 

Arthur took the opportunity to admire the way his lover’s crisp white shirt fit him. His own tie hung loosely around his neck and the few buttons closest to his collar weren’t quite done up yet. This left his throat and collarbone exposed, looking all distracting and tempting-like.

“I know what yer thinkin’,” John chuckled, carefully pulling at the thin loops of the bow to make sure that each side was even and crisp. “And as much as I would love to oblige you, we ain’t got time.” 

Arthur smirked and let himself be turned towards the mirror. John meticulously adjusted a lapel on the bigger man’s navy striped waistcoat as he did. Then he took a step back to admire. 

The blond took in his reflection, “Look at that, you got me lookin’ like a bona fide gentleman.”

“Folks’ll get the wrong impression of ya.” 

Arthur snorted and looked over his shoulder. Then he barked out a laugh when he saw his lover staring at his ass. John smiled, caught and not at all guilty about it. He was clean shaven and his hair was neatly combed. He was looking real clean in shiny boots, black trousers and his shirtsleeves. Stepping forward, he ran his fingertips carefully down Arthur’s chest, following the stripes in the dark blue cotton. 

“We ain’t got time,” he murmured, leaning closer.

“Nope,” Arthur rumbled in agreement, slipping his hands around John’s waist. The waist that had little business being so lean. They were close enough for their breath to brush over each others’ lips. 

Early that morning, they had fed the animals a little more than normal, and traveled down from the homestead by horseback. 

The air was crisp, but thankfully the journey had been dry. Arthur quietly admired the leaves when they changed colour every year. He certainly sneezed more when the seasons changed as he got older, and he made a show of being grouchy about it, but it didn’t stop his silent admiration. John certainly didn’t tire of the view his lover made, looking up at the trees, leading the way as they shuffled through the fresh groundcover.

It was a ten mile ride to the Collings farm, and they’d arrived accompanied by sunlight and several other parties of folks they’d joined on the road. Needless to say, they’d all been put to work as soon as they were settled in their borrowed rooms or pitched tents.

The rest of their morning had been spent helping raise the large pavillion. The poles were positioned on top of the wooden platform that had been assembled the week before. The stakes were hammered into the ground and ropes pulled taut. Bales of hay were settled around each stake to prevent injury or accidents. Arthur had certainly thought it a nifty idea.

After that, chairs and tables were assembled and organized as well. It wasn’t particularly difficult work, and a little manual labour never hurt anyone who was able. Graham’s wife, Lenora Collings, was very specific in her directions. It simply took a lot of hands. Soon enough those that were only deemed useful for their strong backs were excused to make room for the more “creative eyes” to decorate. 

John was only a little insulted, but what did he know?

Afterwards the two of them had retreated back to their room to wash up and get dressed.

The getting dressed part was slow going. They were too busy ogling, gently touching and trading tender kisses between themselves. 

It was John who closed the distance, kissing him slowly and deeply. Gently, he held onto Arthur’s lapels so as not to wrinkle them. He groaned when his lover slid his tongue over his. 

Arthur in turn resisted the urge to comb his fingers through the dark hair and instead let his hands wander down to pull him in by the arse. John had just spent the better part of fifteen minutes combing and styling his hair, Arthur knew better than to mess it up. 

Instead, Arthur tried walking him back towards the bed, slipping his hands down the back of John’s trousers. But John pulled back, laughing, “No, no, Arthur, mmm, we don’t have time,” he said between kisses. He bit his lip when Arthur ducked his head to thoroughly kiss at his throat. A gasp caught up in his chest when he felt a fingertip wander boldly down along the crease of his arse. “ _Oh_ , later,” John sighed. 

“I seem to recall _you_ kissed _me_.” Arthur breathed, giving into temptation and sucking at his collarbone. 

“I seem to recall you! Ahem, you being the one all duded up...looking all gentlemanly and, oof,” the air whoosed from his lungs when Arthur slotted their hips together. He reached back and pulled his lover’s hands out of his trousers. “We haven’t got time.”

Arthur smirked, cocking an eyebrow, “You keep saying that. I bet you we have.”

John laughed and pulled away to button up his collar, “Get off me. We’ve got maybe ten minutes, and you almost _always_ last longer than that.”

“Never heard you complainin’,”

“Later, I promise.”

“Ooh, can’t wait for it to be later.”

“ _Calm down_ and pull yourself together. Those trousers aren’t loose enough to hide what your packing. Especially if you get hard.” 

“I’m flattered you noticed,” Arthur chuckled, going over to pick up John’s dark grey waistcoat. It was a subtle brocade that went more than nicely with his black suit. The blond was beginning to look forward to peeling it off of him later. 

For now they helped each other dress, adjusted bowties and tucked hairs back into place. They embraced just once more before leaving the room, and shared a soft, lingering kiss.

“I love you,” John whispered.

“Love you too,” Arthur murmured before pulling away to lead the way out the door.

* * *

Arthur and John didn’t have much experience with weddings to compare, but they believed the ceremony was enjoyable. What they heard of it at least. 

“A quiet preacher, that’s a first,” John had murmured and Arthur had very quietly, yet respectably, snorted. 

Graham had walked with his daughter, Anabel, up to the altar, looking teary but steadfast. He was dressed in a sleek black suit and a crisp white shirt, his bowtie tied smartly around his neck. Anabel was a sight in her lacy white dress, her reddish hair all done up with harvest flowers. She looked real pretty.

Arthur and John had both murmured agreement that Anabel’s soon-to-be husband Henry was unnaturally pretty. His hair was light blond and his beard was neatly trimmed. His cheekbones, eyelashes and his deep, deep blue eyes were visible from the crowd. The two men weren’t the only ones to notice. 

Graham’s wife, Lenora, and their longtime foreman and lover were sat beside them. Lenora was done up in a lovely green dress, and Joe was dressed in a modest old suit. She murmured, “If I din’know better, I’d say he were down from Danann.” Whatever she meant, she didn't seem to take it lightly. She watched the ceremony very intently, idly wringing a kerchief in her hands. Old Joe placed his hand over hers and squeezed gently, smiling softly in reassurance.

Graham would have called it Gaelic superstition, but Arthur had seen too much in his life not to accept her warning and proceed with caution around the man with a face that was mysteriously pleasing to look at.

When the bride and groom shared the first kiss of their married life together, the gathered folks cheered and clapped. John looked at Arthur right then and saw something sad about his expression. He placed a hand on his lover’s knee and squeezed gently. A silent inquiry. The blond smiled reassuringly at him, and continued clapping for Anabel and Henry. 

Afterwards, everyone was ushered into the pavilion where the “creative eyes” had decorated without the strong backs. The place was glowing with candles. Candles inside carved pumpkins, each with a large, cheery smile and a few carved turnips with some rather dour expressions. There were also flowers all about. Sunflowers, sneezeweed, witch hazel and a purple flower that Arthur informed John without prompting was sage. 

John then wondered if Lenora or Anabel would mind if he took some cuttings at the end of the party for their seeds. After all, a garden with bees in it grew better. Not to mention that he thoroughly enjoyed the soft smile Arthur gave the flowers, brushing his fingers gently along the stringy, yellow petals of the witch hazel. He was glad to see his spirits improved since the end of the ceremony. 

The blond had always had an appreciation for strange plants he’d come across during his travels. His habit of stuffing wild herbs and flowers he found into his satchel had not lessened as they’d gotten older. Their table was often graced with a slightly crushed wildflower. 

The homestead could benefit from the thought. John liked growing things. Flowers were pretty. Arthur was pretty when he was looking at pretty things. If bees frequented the garden more often, a hive might also settle nearby and they might be able to get some honey. 

Also, Beau, their blue tick hound, wasn’t too fond of bees. Miraculously, he’d learned to leave striped buzzers alone after getting stung just once in the mouth for nipping at one. He might spend less time digging in the garden if bees stopped by more often...

“What’re you grinning at?” Arthur asked, reaching out to adjust his lover’s collar. It was pretense of course. He’d take any excuse to touch him in public. 

“Nothin’, just thinking.”

Arthur leaned forward to murmur in his ear, “You look like the devil himself, all duded up and smirkin’ like that.”

John murmured back, “Maybe ‘cause I’m thinkin’ of sinning later. A lot.” Arthur pulled back, giving him a barely contained hungry look. 

Graham and Old Joe caught up with them, sharing drinks and conversing for some time before they settled down at a table to talk of the last harvest. Asking after how well both homes did and if John and Arthur were prepared for the winter. Just as Arthur was reassuring them that they were, Michael, Graham’s youngest son, now nineteen years old, suddenly appeared. 

He looked more willowy than usual in his black waistcoat and suit coat with his long legs swathed in dark grey trousers. His light brown hair was combed back, and his tie was neatly looped. He gracefully took the last seat at the table, right beside John, grey eyes and smile bright. “Evenin’, Mister Marston. Mister Morgan.”

“Evenin’, Michael!” Arthur greeted, smiling lazily, chin rested in his hand.

John hid his sigh of discomfort as best he could.

It wasn’t that John was trying to exactly avoid the boy...but he’d spent the better part of the day trying to avoid the boy. Since the shootout at the homestead the previous autumn, Michael had developed a bit of an attachment to him and Arthur. But mostly him it seemed. 

Sure, the two of them might have been the only queer-like folks he knew other than his father and Old Joe. But the boy was...eager to please. 

At the very least, it amused Arthur to no end. He was inclined to laughingly remind John occasionally that Michael had a little crush on him. 

Just in case he’d forgotten. 

John did his best to not lead the boy on, or be overly dismissive. There was no reason to be rude. He was just young. It weren’t his fault. 

Michael suddenly glanced over his own shoulder, set his jaw and then turned back to the table, smiling and easing into the conversation of the last harvest.

Curious, John looked carefully over his own shoulder and spotted Cole, the black haired, brown-eyed, now 20 year old farmhand in Graham’s employ. Michael had confided to John about his attraction to the other boy. It had seemed mutual since he’d claimed to have sucked the farmhand off at one point last year. But he’d avoided talking about Cole anytime they’d spoken since, only seeming focused on John and Arthur. 

The young man in question was sitting at another table across the pavilion, looking uncomfortable in a borrowed grey suit. He was definitely sneaking a glance at the back of Michael’s head. He looked quickly away when he found John looking at him. 

_Oh hell…_

At least the food was good, and the drink was better. Some folks played music on fiddle, guitar, someone even brought one of them fancy windboxes. The dancing got going after that, especially after the drink. 

At some point Lenora was dancing with Graham in a long line full of hearty smiles and leaping about. Old Joe left his partner to take Lenora’s hands. Instead, the clever woman spun away and continued to dance with the woman whom he had just left. 

This left Graham and Joe dancing together. 

John and Arthur warily glanced around from their chairs. 

Folks...didn’t seem to care. Every face was bright with laughter, food and drink. 

“May I cut in, Boss?” A farmhand tapped Old Joe on the shoulder, grinning his head off when he took Graham for a spin around the wooden floor. The good spirits heightened. All of the farmhands were soon clamoring for a chance to dance with Joe and Graham. All the while, Graham was beet red, and hooting with laughter, “Oh, I’m too old for this! One at a time, you cads!” 

With most of the men in attendance suddenly in short supply, the women danced with each other. Anabel left one of the women and came over in her beautiful, lace wedding dress to pull Michael to his feet, “Are you going to sit here all night or are you going to come dance with us, baby brother?”

Michael looked forlornly at John as he was led away amidst the music and dancing. 

Graham was suddenly taken for a turn just past their table and he called out in feigned distress, “Oh, Arthur! John! Thank goodness! Heeelp!” And then he was gone again, disappearing into the crowd. 

The blond snickered and stood, pulling off his suit coat, “C’mon John, let’s go save the old man.”

John heaved a sigh, and hung his suit coat neatly over the back of his chair before following his lover, “Kind of a roundabout way of askin’ me to dance.”

Scoffing, Arthur took John’s hand and led him right into the thick of it.

This was new. 

Sure, they’d been bullied into attending events in town before. Stuffed into their Sunday best, and forced to put on airs while folks gossiped. Bid on box lunches that any of the Collings made, or on lunches that nobody else seemed to care about bidding for. There was dancing at times at these events. Strictly between men and women. Not like this.

It occurred to the two men that they had never really danced together before. Their heart’s leapt, and their stomachs rolled with nervousness and excitement. But they danced on. Arthur glanced around, following the steps of those around him. Overly careful not to tread on any feet. John stared at him as long as he could. 

He loved him. And in the warmth of his lover’s gaze, he knew that he felt the same.

They smiled and followed the music away from one another, “Good luck!”

Soon enough, Arthur found himself dancing with a young man in a brown suit, a single turn away from Graham. He looked down at the face of his new partner, and startled. The young man was actually the school marm from town. Miss Emma Norwood. She was dressed in a suit, dark brown hair cut short and neat, much like Arthur’s own hair.

The last time he had seen her was late August, hair long and pinned, in a blue dress, walking arm and arm with another young woman along the main street of town. Carrying books or something like it towards the schoolhouse. 

“Oh! Uh, hullo there Miss Emma!” he called over the music. 

She pressed her lips together, looking momentarily embarrassed. They went through another couple of steps before she said, “It’s Edward now.” 

His eyebrows went up, but he swallowed down his shock when he saw the defiant, worried look in the sharp green eyes. You live on the edges of civilized life, amongst outlaws and folks that polite society didn’t want for long enough...you met all sorts of people. It weren’t the first time Arthur had seen something like that. It was just the first time it wasn’t in a backwards saloon, a questionable river boat, a smoking den or the privacy of someone’s own parlor. 

It certainly was the first time he’d seen it in a school teacher.

Maybe things were changing. 

He smiled and nodded, “Good to see you again, Edward.” 

The young man smiled, grateful and relieved. 

And then they spun away from each other. At last, Arthur got a hold of Graham and led him out of the crowd. The old man breathlessly wiped sweat from his forehead. And John, who had just escaped the dancing to join them, smirked, “You sure are popular tonight!”

“Yes! Thankfully, they all seem to be after young Henry now,” the old man panted, gesturing to his new son-in-law who was taking the sudden turn of events with enthusiasm. 

John looked out at the crowd. Michael was currently taking Henry for a turn about the floor, both of them smiling for all they were worth. The music signaled another shift of partner and they were sent apart. The boy suddenly found himself face to face with Cole. The farmhand smiled sheepishly and offered his hands. But Michael spun away again to dance with someone else. 

Glancing at Arthur, he knew his lover had seen what had happened. Graham appeared privy as well. The old man mopped at his brow with a kerchief, “Oh dear,”

* * *

Darkness had fallen hours ago, and the party was still in full swing. The pavilion was loud with music, laughter and light spilled out. “He’s been eyeing you all night,” Arthur drawled as he held out a cigarette, leaning against a tree. 

John took it, heaving a sigh, “He’s been drinking all night too.” The blond scoffed, striking a match and letting John suck the flame from it. 

“He’s likely to have his courage all liquored up soon. I dunno what’s up with him and Cole but...Oh, I don’t know.” John grumbled, nodding his thanks. “It ain’t my business.”

A bark of laughter left Arthur, as he lit his own cigarette from the same match. He threw an arm about John’s shoulders, “I don’t know too much about Cole to make an informed assumption about him. He postured at me like a rooster when I first met him, and he seems like a bit of a smartass. Maybe Michael could do better...eh, I suppose I’ll still love you if anything happens.” 

John blew a stream of smoke to one side, and squinted at his lover, “He’s _nineteen!_ Just a boy.” Arthur gazed at John, a smoky, wistful smile on his face, “I seem to remember that not stopping a certain nineteen year old kid sometime ago.”

“That’s different!” John protested, “You were only a few years older than I was. I’m near _twice_ his age.”

“More’n twice his age now I’d say,” Arthur corrected with a chuckle, his hand traveling down John’s back. A squiggle of smoke, blue in the night, trailed from his cigarette. 

“Yes, I know!” He paused when Arthur’s hand slid down and groped his arse, fingers suggestively pressing against the seam of his trousers. “Gettin’ fresh with me, Arthur Morgan?” He breathed, taking a long drag from his own smoke, making the tip glow orange. 

There was a pleased rumble, “N’what if I am?” 

John blew a stream to one side, leaning close and murmuring lowly, “Then you won’t be gettin’ much sleep tonight.” 

“Wouldn’t be gettin’ much sleep anyway. I’m too old and sore from putting up that pavilion today.” 

John snorted and kissed him. A gasp got caught up in his throat when Arthur firmly pulled him in by his arse. A distinct, familiar bulge ground up against his front, piquing a sudden interest at his own groin. The fingers at the seams of his trousers pressed more insistently, rubbing hard near his entrance.

“You’re after killin’ me,” Arthur growled, dragging his teeth over his lover’s lip. John huffed out a breathless laugh, “ _Me?_ Yer the one,” he paused, spotting movement out of the corner of his eye. Arthur carefully removed his hand from his arse and went back to smoking with a devilish smirk on his face.

That was because they both recognized the form of Michael Collings. His gait was overly careful, like that of a drunken man, as he strayed away from the festivities to join the two men out in the dark.

“Oh god, here he comes. You couldn’t have chosen somewhere more populated?” 

“I believe ‘populated’ is the exact opposite of what you said earlier. Think you said ‘private’ and something like ‘please hide me’,” Arthur drawled, blowing smoke off to one side, “You know, you might as well kiss him. He won’t leave you alone ‘til you do.” He smiled knowingly then, “You’d know something about that wouldn’t you, little Johnny Marston.”

John glared at Arthur, hackles rising. He would certainly know something about that. He had been the nineteen year old boy chasing after the older man. But Arthur had only been a few years older, not almost double his own age. It didn’t feel right. 

“I mean, our bed’s big enough,” Arthur snorted, taking a long drag from his smoke.

“You are not helping, will you shut up?”

“Hope I don’t have to help too much, I’m not as spry as I used to be. One younger man is enough.”

“Mr. Marston? Mr. Morgan?” Came the boy’s tentative call. 

“Hey, Michael!” Arthur called back, sounding amused.

John grumbled, “He’s Graham’s son.” 

“Well, Graham brought that boy up to our place to show him that two queers could make it together.” Arthur pointed out quietly, smirking. 

“Can I join ya?” 

“By all means!” Arthur invited, reaching into his pocket for the carton of cigarettes. “Yer gonna have to let him down sooner or later,” he added so Michael couldn’t hear.

The boy came closer, and his visage grew apparent in the dimness. He was a little rosy, and more outwardly cheerful than usual. Definitely on the far side of tipsy. 

“Smoke?” Arthur asked, offering the carton. 

“Oh, sure, thanks!” Michael readily replied, slipping one for himself. Before Arthur could offer him a light, he leaned up close to John. The big man covered his smirk by taking a long drag from his own smoke, watching Michael light his on the glowing end of John’s. 

“Match woulda done you fine,” John coughed when the boy finally leaned away, looking flushed and uncomfortable.

Michael nodded, blowing smoke to one side, “I know. Didn’t wanna waste.”

 _The match or the opportunity?_ Arthur wondered to himself, trying not to laugh. 

“Listen, Michael, I,” “Mr. Marston, I wanted to,”

The two paused, having spoken at the same time. 

The boy smiled softly, lowering his gaze as bluish smoke curled through the air, “Sorry...I know you think I’m just this stupid kid,”

“Michael,” John sighed, “I don’t think you’re stupid,”

“Well, maybe I am stupid,”

“Michael,” 

Arthur spotted a figure emerging from the pavilion’s light. Given the size, shape and the ill-fitting, borrowed grey suit, he believed it was Cole. Glancing back, to his surprise, he found that the young Collings had stepped into John’s personal space and was now kissing him. 

Right on the mouth. 

John remained still. Michael pulled a breath’s width away, his fingers gently sliding through the soft hairs at the back of the older man’s neck. He murmured, “But m’not a kid anymore. I’m a man.” Licking his lips, he added, “And I know what I want.”

John could smell the spices and rye from the hot cider on his breath. Shaking his head, he grasped Michael’s elbows and leaned away from the attempt at a second kiss, “Michael, you’re drunk,”

“I’d kiss you if I was sober,” the young man said, smiling lopsidedly. He took a long drag from his cigarette. “Maybe I’d do more.”

John shook his head again, “I’m too old for you, Michael. I could be your father.”

Michael shrugged, “So?” He looked over at Arthur appraisingly, “I don’t mind that you and Mister Morgan’re older than me. Not one bit.” Pointedly, his gaze traveled downwards to the bigger man’s groin. Arthur cocked an eyebrow, not having expected to be dragged into it. 

“ _I_ mind,” John said gently, catching the hand wandering down towards his own crotch. He looked to his lover for help. The blond sucked on his cigarette, making the tip glow orange in the darkness and nodded towards the pavilion. He followed his gaze and found Cole just outside the party’s light. 

Not close enough to hear over the music, but close enough to see. If his eyes had adjusted to the night, that is.

Sighing, John looked back down at Michael, “You sure you’re not just using me as an excuse to make Cole jealous?”

Michael’s expression grew dark. He looked down and took a long drag off the smoke Arthur had given him. “Jealous of what? He doesn’t want me.”

“He don’t want you? Boy, he’s been eyeing you more than you’ve been eyeing John all night. He’s eyeing you right now.” Arthur drawled, smirking.

Grimacing, the young Collings looked like he had just fought the urge to look over his shoulder. His posture tensed up, and he coughed.

Immediately defensive, John asked lowly, fearing the worst, “Did he hurt you?”

“No!” Michael exclaimed, looking shocked. “No, not like you’re thinking, Mister Marston.” He shook his head, tucked one hand into a pocket and stared down at his cigarette. “No. He just said that we couldn’t be doing ‘wrong’ things anymore. That it’s sinful. He says that, and yet, he keeps comin’ back for more, and acting like nothing’s happened afterward and...and I don’t like it.”

Arthur frowned over at Cole. He personally recognized the behavior. Years and years ago, he’d been close to putting John in the same situation time and again. It was hard to fight off the fears beaten into you as a child. Difficult to be able to give in fully to your desires when you’re taught so wholeheartedly that they’re wrong.

He wondered for a moment what kind of family Cole had come from. Felt sympathy for him, even. Nevertheless, Michael certainly didn’t deserve the treatment.

“Seems okay with it when I’ve got his prick in my mouth,” Michael muttered. Then he shrugged with a smirk, “‘Least I’ve had some practice since last year.” Licking his lower lip, he added suggestively, “I think I’m rather good at it now, Mister Marston.” 

Shaking his head, John stepped back, “No, Michael.”

A long moment of silence followed. The laughter and music continued on inside the pavilion. Shadows danced across the ground. There was a distinct chill to the air that would signal the very last possible harvest before every plant died. Something ending so that something else could begin. 

Michael smiled softly, looking down. He tucked a hand into his pocket, posture looking light-hearted but undeniably tense. “Alright. Can’t blame a fellow for trying.”

Arthur reached out to grip his shoulder reassuringly, “We understand.”

The boy nodded, “Yeah. Guess you do.”

“Well, Marston does, at least,” Arthur tittered. 

“Arthur,” John sighed. 

Michael quirked an inquisitive eyebrow, and that was all Arthur needed to open his big mouth. One story in particular that involved John at eighteen or nineteen years old. Young, aroused, and trying anything for Arthur’s attention, even fighting with him. That kind of thing didn’t bode well when one was near water and one couldn’t swim.

“You couldn’t swim?” Michael asked, almost disbelievingly. 

“Still can’t,” John grumbled, smoking the last of his cigarette, “Still don’t stop this dumbass from throwing me in the lake every summer.”

“Sinks like a rock every time,” Arthur said, smirking.

“What say we go back to the party?” John grouched, flicking the ashes off of his unfinished cigarette and pinching it closed for later.

* * *

The late hour had brought a chill to the air that had John and Arthur thankful that they had been offered one of the guest rooms. Arthur had muttered that his old bones weren’t fit for sleeping exposed anymore. John snorted, but agreed that a soft, warm bed was preferable to a cot in a chilly tent. 

The two of them stumbled into their dark room past one o’clock in the morning and locked the door behind them. Bumping into furniture. Stifling their laughter. Trading tipsy, delirious kisses. Pawing at one another to get their clothing off.

“I’ve waited long enough, Marston, and I aim to collect on that promise.” Arthur rumbled deep in his throat, deftly undoing the buttons of their trousers. 

Laughing, John held Arthur’s shoulder for balance in order to pull his boots off. “Patience is a virtue, old man.” 

“I’ve _been_ patient!” His lover exclaimed, leaning in to mouth at the long line of his neck. 

“Mm! Yeah, I ‘spose you have. Guess you want some kinda reward now?”

“I got my ass up before dawn, rode ten miles, put up a pavilion, sat through a wedding and six hours worth of drunken festivities, I think I earned a reward.”

“It _was_ kind of them to invite us,”

“Yeah, we’ll have to thank Anabel later.” Arthur hummed, shoving John down onto the bed so he could easily pull off his undone trousers. “Seems like a wedding is the only way I get to see you all duded up.” He momentarily dipped a hand into their saddlebags for their little pot of vaseline, which he tossed on the bed before climbing on top of his lover. 

John sighed as the blond’s tongue licked from his groin, and up his belly, and chest. He leaned up to kiss him, wrapping his legs about his waist. It was a relief. The burn of Arthur’s stubble, his familiar lips. His skilled tongue and teeth over his throat. The sounds he made. The comforting anticipation that came from the big, interested cock pressing up against his thigh.

John gasped, rolling his hips upward, rubbing their lengths together. Arthur groaned against his lips and breathed, “I want you.”

“You have me, always,” John replied quietly, sounding strained, fumbling for the pot of slick. He gasped when Arthur rolled them so that he lay on his back, and was pulled in for a decent smothering of kisses.

Arthur groaned against John’s mouth, reaching down to stroke their pricks together. His knees lifted up, making John readjust his position, and squeezed him about the waist. “C’mere,” he murmured, guiding his lover’s slick fingers to his entrance. 

He breathed through being fingered open, distracted by sweet kisses. John’s cock was pressing insistently against the back of his thigh the whole while. His heartbeat picked up when John murmured, “Hand me that pillow.”

Unable to help himself, Arthur grabbed the nearest pillow and hit John in the face. The two drunken men dissolved into helpless giggles. The brunet leaned down to “punish” his lover with a firm hand at his jaw and a hard kiss. “Ass.”

“Mmh, lost my patience,” Arthur chuckled, tightening his legs around John’s waist. Using him as leverage to lift his hips up, arching his back. John scoffed and stuffed the pillow underneath, and reached for the slick again. 

“C’mere,” Arthur drawled, pulling his lover in by the hips, “Want you inside me.”

John took a deep, steadying breath, trying to clear his head, cloudy with drink and arousal. After slicking his cock up, he pressed the crown inside. The room was too dim to see the red tinge to Arthur’s cheeks and chest. But he knew it was there by the warmth of his skin, the sharp intake of breath, and the long, quiet sigh. 

John could listen to those soft, pleasured sounds for all time. And he sure as hell was going to. Swallowing hard, he let out a low groan, finding himself fully seated inside of his lover. 

Arthur stroked his hands up John’s flanks, and whispered, “C’mere, c’mere.” Obliging him, John adjusted his knees and leaned heavily down onto elbows. He was welcomed into a loving embrace. Arthur licked into his mouth and tilted his hips up against him, “C’mon, sweet. Make love to me.”

John gasped, and did as he was told, ever eager to please the one who pleased him the most. They moved together, sloppy but so in sync. John tangled his fingers in his lover’s blond hair, thrusting deep into him. The guest bed was noisy, squeaking with every movement. It made them smile, and laugh into each other’s kisses. But they kept on, feeling hot and sweaty with exertion. Tired from the long day, the dancing, the drinking and their love. 

Arthur reached between them to tug at his cock, crying out as John pounded into his sweet spot. John ducked his head, kissing at his lover’s neck, burying his pleasured groans. He reached down to slip one of the blond’s leg into the crook of his arm for a better angle. The result was a delirious laugh, “Oh! Shit, Johnny, keep goin’. M’close. M’so close.”

John moaned, adding a bit more force to his inward thrusts. Arthur jumped each time, murmuring encouragement and grunting into his ear. His whole body tensed up, clamping down, arms tightening around John’s neck. “Oh god,” was all that he could utter, moaning as he finally let go over his tugging fist and shuddering belly. 

Not wanting to be left behind, John pulled out, and worked himself quickly over Arthur’s groin. Panting breathlessly, Arthur dragged him into a stifling kiss. “Oh, c’mon, darlin’, c’mon.” He whispered, stroking his fingers through his long, dark hair, messing it up more than it already was. Rambling with his release, “Oh, listen to ya. You looked so pretty today. Dressed all slick like that, drawing looks from folks. But you’re all mine. So handsome. I wanted to take you away and suck you off, bend myself over somethin’ for you, bend you over somethin’. Wanted you. Always want you. _Fuck_ , I love you. Oh god, John, I wanna dance with you every day. Goddamnit, I wish I could marry you.”

John’s whole body suddenly jerked, and he came off with a muffled cry, spilling over Arthur's belly. Slowing down. Easing away on a cloud of drunkenness, satiation and exhaustion. He was only vaguely aware of being cleaned up and rearranged. Forced to drink a whole lot of water before he was wrapped up in strong limbs and blankets. Arthur kissed his temple gently, and settled down, looping an arm over his chest. They grew quiet, teetering on the verge of sleep.

But soon John’s eyes snapped open, and he fought off sleep. He chewed his lip, wondering if he’d imagined it. “Arthur?”

“Mm?”

“What...What was that last thing that you said?” He asked, rolling wearily over to face his lover. The blond blinked his eyes open, and looked at him. 

Both men paused. Arthur gazed lovingly at John who looked back at him with the same love. He stroked his face, and in return John combed his fingers back through the soft locks of dark blond hair. Waiting patiently.

Pressing his lips together in a tight line, Arthur shook his head. Then he smiled ruefully, “I said...I wish I could marry you.”

John swallowed hard. A soft, shuddering breath escaped him. Then his brow arched, and a sad smile came over his face. Gently, he slid a hand around the back of Arthur’s neck and pulled him in. He brushed their lips together, and murmured, “You old fool...is that a proposal?”

“Depends,” Arthur breathed, his voice shaking. “You sayin’ yes?” His face was suddenly feeling wet and his throat felt clogged. He tried to pull back to wipe at the unbidden tears. His lover held him fast, and wiped at Arthur’s cheeks before rubbing at his own eyes. 

“If we could...Oh god, I’d say yes in a heartbeat, Arthur Morgan.” 

They settled into a tight embrace, heavy with kisses and love. Their legs tangled together in the fresh bedclothes, their hands tenderly stroking each other’s backs. The promise of their own eternity together had always gone without saying. The oddly accepting evening had inspired Arthur to reach further. To reach for a feeling of normalcy that he didn’t think he’d ever consider. He was too unorthodox of a man, and so was John Marston. 

Maybe one day. It was unlikely, but the thought was certainly a nice one.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment and/or kudos! Lovely to hear from you!


End file.
